


fool with the sound

by wildcard_47



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18860893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: “Captain Crozier! Come quickly. There’s been an accident on Erebus!”In which Fitzjames is the dashing hero and Francis gets a little tongue-tied.





	fool with the sound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kamidog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamidog/gifts).



“Captain!” Jopson was slightly out of breath as he rushed up the last gangplank and onto the quarterdeck to Crozier’s side; even in this harried condition, he managed to appear as put-together as ever. “Come quickly. There’s been an accident on  _ Erebus! _ ”

_ Shit, shit, buggering shit. With two days before sailing, to boot.  _ Francis did not want to imagine worst-case scenarios. “Sir John?”

“No, sir. Commander Fitzjames – you’ll see. Hurry!”

Swearing as he handed off command to Lieutenant Little, Crozier followed his steward at a run, and they made haste for  _ Erebus.  _ Even before he reached the ship, the buzzing crowd of workmen, sailors, and pedestrians that had suddenly gathered around the anchor lines was a foreboding sign.

“Clear a path!” Jopson’s voice carried through the group as they pushed forward, the call strong and loud as a bell. “Make way for Captain Crozier!”

The crowd parted to reveal a ship’s boy of perhaps eleven or twelve lying limp on the boardwalk. Doctor Stanley had already arrived with his medical bag. He knelt next to the boy checking his pulse and other vitals, but the lad still lay unmoving: smooth bare chest and face far too pale, and his lips blued from lack of breath.

A rush of fear surged into Francis’s stomach as he knelt down next to Stanley. “Get a hot brandy from Mr. Wall,” he ordered the nearest seaman, who scuttled backwards. “Now!”

“What happened?” he demanded of Jopson, who now hovered anxiously above his right shoulder. “How long was this boy in the water?”

“Not sure, sir. Sir John had already left for the victuallers – the foretop was checking the sails for tomorrow – don’t know how he fell for certain, but he doesn’t – ”

With a great gasp, the boy woke with a sudden jerk of arms and legs, drawing in a wet, harsh breath as his panicked eyes bugged open. Francis’s jaw relaxed slightly as Doctor Stanley turned him onto his right side, monitoring each deep cough and violent retch with a blank mask of approval, saying, “Good, Wilson. Very good. Get it all up.”

Jopson was still speaking. “...when he didn’t surface, Commander Fitzjames went in after him.”

_ “What?” _

Francis glanced right just in time to see two hands grasp the ledge of the pier, then brace themselves on the edge of the boardwalk. A pair of broad, muscled arms emerged from the choppy sea in a rush of water; within half a minute, Francis found himself staring up at a sopping-wet Fitzjames, who had clearly dived in at short notice.

Though the Commander’s appearance was normally impeccable, at present he was stripped half-naked in his haste to aid his crewman. As Fitzjames stood there in his shirtsleeves and trousers, braces hanging around his ankles, dripping water onto the dingy boardwalk in gushes, Francis could not stop staring at him. 

Water ran in bright gleaming rivulets down his toned, lean chest and into his sodden shirtsleeves, now so opaque they were transparent. Dark hair was plastered to his scalp, his loosely-laced trousers clung to him like a second skin, and for a moment – the most absurd, ridiculous moment – Francis’s mouth hung open at the sight of this man, this fellow deemed  _ most handsome man in the Royal Navy _ , standing on the docks in such disarray. 

“I say, men,” sputtered Fitzjames as he swiped water from his nose, shoving a mass of wet hair backwards with one hand. “Nice day for a dip.”

Laughs and cheers rose from the assembled group.

Fitzjames just grinned, running his other hand over wet strands and squeezing extra water from the ends before glancing around and meeting Francis’s stare. His face lit up when he spotted Francis kneeling at the boy’s side. “Ah, Captain Crozier! Your man did find you! Well done, Mister Jopson. Well done, indeed.”

Why was he smiling like that? For a wardroom officer to appear so disheveled in public and in front of the entire ship was not merely unseemly, but – obscene!

“Wh – Fitzjames!” sputtered Francis, and quickly yanked his eyes away from his Second’s nearly-naked form as he got to his feet. Thanks to the stiff breeze whipping around the moored ship, James’s chest had flushed a healthy red. Dark dusky nipples peaked up through his shirt. The garment was so taut Francis could even spy a muscle fiber twitching in his abdomen. “That’s – what in God’s name possessed you to – ?!”

“Saw Wilson go over. Thought I’d lend a hand.” Fitzjames accepted a vaguely-clean handkerchief from a petty officer with a nod of thanks, and gave Francis a delighted grin as he mopped at his brow. “A bloody war or a sickly season, eh?”

Watching him wring water from the tails of his sodden shirt, arms and chest rippling with each movement and that square jaw gleaming gold in the afternoon sun, a sudden fury surged into Francis’s stomach, leaving him completely unable to speak without stuttering.

“Nnh – well, it – bloody well  _ could have killed you _ , you – absolute – ”

Blood pounded in his ears and his palms and his throat felt as if it were closing. Nearby, Doctor Stanley had procured several sailors to help carry the boy aboard  _ Erebus _ , and was currently snapping out instructions to this group as they stood up and made their way to sickbay. And walking very near the gangplank, tittering behind their fans as they gawked at the faint shadow of hair trailing down James’ stomach, was a group of ladies. Glaring, Francis followed their wide-eyed stares to the seam of James’s trousers, where the curve of his cock was very much visible between his legs.

“Make yourself  _ decent _ , for God’s sake,” Francis hissed, shrugging out of his own coat without thinking, and shoving it at a now-bewildered Fitzjames. “There are  _ ladies present! _ ”

“Ah. Oh, dear.” Least Fitzjames had the grace to blush when he saw them looking, reddening from nose to navel. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

“We will discuss this with Sir John later,” growled Francis, and stalked off without another word. 

He returned to  _ Terror _ and poured himself a glass of whiskey, but could concentrate on nothing save the tightness in his groin. Before he could second-guess the impulse, Francis strode to the door of the Great Cabin, locked it, and then locked the door to his berth. 

In no time at all, he shoved his trousers and linens around his ankles, and wrapped one hand around his aching cock, gripping and tugging in hard quick strokes as he leaned against his desk. Although Francis had thought of no woman save Sophia in almost five years, suddenly she was impossible to picture. 

Now, Francis imagined James in his arms instead, wet and hard and pliant amid the cool water, hot afternoon sun glinting off their flushed skin as they moved together. James would pant and groan and sigh as Francis worked him over, that smart mouth hanging open in wordless delight as he writhed forward against Francis’s leg — he might lose his footing in search of better friction, accidentally going down to one knee, the hard planes of his bare chest now centimeters from Francis’s red hot cock as he bent to —

Climax was brutal and unrelenting; Francis’s knees gave out from under him and he sagged back against his bunk, gasping, as it echoed all the way up his spine. After several more seconds, the image of James’s bare chest liberally streaked with white shimmered and fell away, leaving Francis stunned, shaken and alone. 

Aboard  _ Erebus _ later that evening, after hearing the full report, Sir John seemed surprisingly unconcerned by the afternoon’s events. “Peace, Francis. It is sporting of you to worry about an officer’s influence on the fairer sex, though I think perhaps the safety of our men supersedes such feminine sensibilities, if only temporarily.”

“Of course, Sir John.” Francis was astute enough to wince at his own idiocy. He had not phrased it correctly, then. “I do not mean to condemn Commander Fitzjames’s bravery, nor censure him for rescuing one of his own. Merely recommending caution in future. Is that so abhorrent?”

“Caution against what?” Fitzjames had already appeared in the doorway, washed and dressed and gleaming in full uniform. His dark hair was even curled. “Good evening, Sir John.”

Francis cursed his luck, and fought to suppress the prickle of heat that climbed up the back of his neck. “Regarding the wardroom.”

“Exciting the ladies, apparently,” interjected Sir John with a chortle, as if it were so impossible for James’s body to draw such prolonged and inappropriate attention. “Well, Commander. Since I was not present during the event in question, and since such carelessness with your uniform was only done in service of our greenest sailor, I shall dismiss you with a warning this time.” Sir John’s eyes twinkled merrily before he turned his attention back to his papers, clearly meaning not to issue even a minute of duty owing. “Let us not have need of such thrilling heroics again.”

“Thank you, Sir John,” returned James as he walked forward, mischievous smile widening. Francis realized he was carrying a folded greatcoat under his arm. “Hear hear.”

Turning redder than ever, now pinned in place by James’s lofty, amused gaze, Francis let out an angry sigh. “Sir John, I did not say—of course Fitzjames should not be disciplined for it, he—I am merely  _ suggesting _ —we cannot possibly have him––”

_ Parading around like a bloody romantic poet caught out for a lark! _

The end of the sentence stuck in his throat, hot and thick. Sir John was frowning at him as if he’d said the stupidest thing in the world. 

And Fitzjames was still looking at Francis, lips curved in a soft, secret smile.

“Never mind. If you will excuse me, I have a headache,” concluded Francis with a growl, and snatched his neatly-pressed coat out of Fitzjames’s hands before he or Sir John could react.

“Dismiss,” said Sir John coolly.

Huffing, Francis turned on his heel and departed; it was not until he had safely reached the orlop that he stopped to don his coat, and caught the scent of Fitzjames’s soap on its collar. Inhaling roses and violets, hating himself, he clenched one fist against the wellspring of desire that still bubbled up inside him before striding down the empty deck, up the stairs, and out into the humid summer night.

Two days left before the sailing. 

Two more bloody days.

**Author's Note:**

> Just enjoy this image of James as a cross between [Colin Firth's Mr. Darcy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hasKmDr1yrA) and any Bond girl walking out of the ocean (but probably [Halle Berry](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ctgf5uxBQW8).) ^_^ #blessedandthankful #beachbodyready
> 
> Title taken from [The Cars' **Moving In Stereo**](https://open.spotify.com/track/5xLfQuX5YAfog2JgPz0dpA?si=zvOwJd-lTlWGPLu5VMPEKQ).


End file.
